Writing Short Rhyming Poems with Metaphors

Anunnaki UFOs

The Anunnaki-Iraq Connection

What do we make of the discovery of planetary references and a Base-60 number system inscribed in cuneiform on clay tablets which have been dug up from the 4,000+ year old ruins of ancient Sumer near Baghdad in what is now Iraq?

Other Questions: Jews, Christians, and Muslims each have a common creation story drawn from events originally recorded in cuneiform in the Gilgamesh Epic and other documents. What gave rise to these, and to the cultures underlying them?

Why have no direct links to hominids immediately antecedent to Homo Sapiens been discovered in digs all over the world?

Why is the human female the only mammal with no estrus? Why is the human male in so many instances obsessed with sex, gold, and violence?

Why is the southeastern shore of the Dead Sea radioactive today?

These questions are all related.

Was 20th Century man actually the first astronaut? See Zecharia Sitchin’s Earth Chronicles, especially The 12th Planet (Bear & Co., Rochester, VT, 1976, Revised 1991), Genesis Revisited (Avon Books, NY, NY, 1990), and The Lost Book of Inki (Bear & Co., Rochester, VT, 2002).

Sitchin’s work give us a good bit to think about.

Eight poems in Section V of 21st Century Bread, pages 93-103, were inspired by meditating on the assumption of the Anunnaki’s visit to Earth and their intervention in our pre-hominid ancestors’ past. To some, especially scientists and devoutly religious people whose cages Sitchin rattles, this whole subject will seem far out, like UFO's in our own era. To others, Sitchin's work seems like a breath of fresh air, spiritually speaking, and answers a lot of questions like those above.

How about you? You think it possible? Or do you think it hogwash?

Check out Zecharia Sitchin’s work. It will amaze you. Meanwhile, from my book here are the poems (below the videos):

Eight Anunnaki Poems


NOTE: To see the big picture first, page down to Change Pace Video 5 and the texts of its poems, and then work back up the page to 6, 7, and 8.

(All the poems which appear on this page are taken from 21ST CENTURY BREAD © 2007 by Leland Jamieson.)


Change Pace Poetry 8--UFOs Video






Snake Oil Liniment

(At a cellar hole in a Connecticut Watershed.)

I drop my yellow knapsack at my feet,
sit down upon a cellar hole’s stone wall,
and muse on stone-stringed forest, where stood wheat

and barley, oats, potatoes, corn and all
its owners grew until the soil gave out —
’til they moved west with all that they could haul.

I lift my knees, swinging my legs about,
and dangle them down in the cellar hole.
There, if I dug in moldy leaves, no doubt

each jig-saw piece would fit up to this whole:
A pale-green bottled snake oil liniment
one rubbed on aching muscles to cajole

more sleep at night, more work when day unbent
to batter ribs twixt handles of the plough . . . .
No way could Deity have had intent . . . .

Why did the Anunnaki bring this row
with Nature, rape Earth’s gold, set up deceit
and all false gods we can’t quite disavow?


Red-eyed Slaves

A meditation based in part on Zecharia Sitchin’s
Earth Chronicles, Genesis 1:26, and
Jean Leidloff’s The Continuum Concept.


New converts mind their P’s and Q’s
until they move to proselytize
and “disabuse” free-thinkers’ views —
but seldom can they answer “whys.”
We grant the refuge faiths provide
the rage and tears of lost mankind,
but ask, “Why lost, and why red-eyed?
Why does such pain fill heart and mind?”

We are by Anunnaki cursed.
Was they disrupted our descent
from peaceful hominids that nursed
their young in arms to hearts’ content . . . .
It’s odd we praise those “gods of old”
who made us slaves to sex and gold.


Not Need Iron Filings’ Art?

(Strolling through Connecticut woods.)

He scratched through leaves, grasped up a fist
of humus, squeezed it, let it drop:
A hundred years of leaves sun kissed . . . .
Three hundred, these walls bound a crop . . . .
Twenty-some thousand years’ tick-tock,
a glacier, here, dropped off these stones . . . .
Two hundred thousands’ — in “Iraq” —
we slaved as Anunnaki drones . . . .

These measures, all exterior,
are barely the blink of an eye
of life far more interior
which lures our interest: By and by,
we’ll not need iron filings’ art
to see our Zero Point Field’s heart.


Breaking 21st Century Bread

O Wondrously Divine Intelligence,
Creator of our Anunnaki Sires,
of Abraham, Mohammed, Jesus (whence,
with Eastern Mystics, each of us respires);

Creator seen in Martha and in Mary
whose puzzling hands make tools of shell and clay,
who smuggle souls on broken water’s ferry,
on breasts’ compassion, quenching thirst with play:

We thank You for these gifts of bread and drink.
How better share them? How view all as kin,
with empathy? How step back from the brink
of judging specks — our planks denied within?

How let go cherished angers, grow though Zen —
expressing You in all we do? Amen.


Change Pace Poetry 7--UFOs Video






First Powered Flight, No Lie

For Mark and Charlie. With thanks to Zecharia Sitchin.

Up through the loft door swallows flew with yarn
and charmed us farmers talking in the barn.
The notion ripened: could a man, too, fly,
or were our daydreams nothing but a lie?
We envied bees that pollinated crops —
and hawks on thermals: so quick on prey each drops!

A great Centennial — Two Thousand Three —
marked Man’s First Powered Flight, which let us free
our locomotive legs from stirrup cups,
from jack boots, cowboy boots, and high lace-ups,
from buckboards springing down those long log pikes,
and train wrecks due to wobbly rails and spikes.

We fancy we invented powered flight,

were first to think it through and do it right,
because we’ve read so little history free
of misconceptions — how we came to be.
We’ve burned too many hapless books to know
what cuneiform recorded long ago:

Revolving in a stretched elipse around
our sun (thirty-six centuries round-trip bound)
the beings on the planet Nibiru
faced their demise unless they could renew
Red Hues, in underground fresh produce squares,
with grow-lamps made of true gold-halide flares.

An Anunnaki pilot “from above”
brought powered flight to Earth; he was no dove
with peaceable intentions, but a hawk
who flew his planet’s spaceships — just a jock
intent on pirating away Earth’s gold.
In cuneiform the story is well-told.

Those Anunnaki working mines got wise —
genetic splicing helped them hybridize
from their genes and our own most playful ape’s
a slave race. Us! Thus, they could lounge with grapes
while (estrus-less, testosterone-cajoled)
we slaved away, obsessed with sex and gold.

The playful ape turned hostile with new genes.
The Anunnaki, tired of violent scenes
we made in every Canaanite farm town,
dropped seven nuclear devices down:
They’ve blackened Sinai’s limestone to these days,
while Sumer perished beneath their fallout’s rays.

Now Sumer’s tablets, writ in cuneiform,
survive inside Iraq. They can inform
a student who desires to know flight’s cost,
its damage, all the knowledge we have lost
surrounded by the lies half-truths will weave us —
lies we live by ’til truth more whole reprieve us.


Change Pace Poetry 6--UFOs Video






Are We Never Free the Anunnaki?

Autumn, 2001, reflecting on man’s terrorism
and on Zecharia Sitchin’s Earth Chronicles.


1. Prologue

When Big Bang stardust coalesced in Sun,
in Earth and sister planets that we see,
one of these, now named “Nibiru,” was spun
in an ellipse which strains credulity.

This great ellipse makes her part absentee,
since thirty-six — note — hundred! — summers warm
us ’fore she streaks through our astronomy.
Clay tablets narrate this in cuneiform.

2. Origins

Her people, the Anunnaki, aimed to form
a colony to mine Earth’s veins for gold.
(Back home they farmed beneath the ground, where warm.
Gold-halide lamps grew crops that all extolled.)

Once here, though, miners could not be controlled.
They quit — refused to tunnel underground
despite how folks on Nibiru cajoled,
or cursed green produce failed lamps made unsound.

They searched Earth’s fauna, probed all life. They frowned.
Earth’s every creature had, for brains, a lith.
They fiddled with their genes. Results were crowned
with half-men, half-beasts (source of Grecian “myth”).

In vitro trials at last revealed the pith.
Ape ova pierced by Anunnaki sperm —
implants the Anunnaki bore — forthwith
produced us Homo Sapiens, bonded firm . . . .

We male-slaves, super-sexed like them, would worm
our miner’s rest from females estrus-free.
They bore us “gold-dig-kids” bound to affirm
our Lords as “gods, come down to land and sea.”

3. Anarchy

Two times our ‘gods’ fled up from anarchy
we soldiering male-slaves wreaked with slings and swords
(we’d learned to wield them in poor mimicry
of sibling infighting among our Lords):

Fled — first — when Nibiru’s elliptic towards
the Sun veered too near Earth, and drew south seas
above Mount Ararat’s high crags and wards
and left mere wrack for tidal refugees.

Down — from safe orbit — to our shores’ debris,
our ‘gods’ helped Noah’s kin to find fresh springs . . . .
They wed our females — crowned their progenies,
to govern us unruly folk, our kings . . . .

In Sodom, puppet kings broke loose their strings
and plotted constant chaos while they boozed.
Our ‘gods’ again fled up on rocket wings,
dropped seven nukes, and left the Sinai bruised.

Northeast the clouds blew . . . Sumer’s skies suffused . . . .
The cuneiform relates with grave finesse
the reek in Sumer — human flesh which oozed
beneath its radioactive sullenness . . . .

4. Epilogue

Now Muslims, Christians, Jews add new distress,
see Deity in ‘god’-masks each adores,
implores them, “Grant our Holy War success” —
this with self-righteousness each ‘god’ abhors!

Is Deity best known through paramours
of gold? — those Anunnaki in its thrall? —
through slave descendants stretching metaphors? —
Divine Intelligence, Creator of All?


Change Pace Poetry 5--UFOs Video






Dispirited Investor

A meditation based, in part, on
Zecharia Sitchin’s Earth Chronicles.


What’s worship? I am long upon my knees.
I offer pain — in them, and in my mind —
to God above, in hopes I may appease
Him, and, despite my fear and greed, unwind
investments I too quickly grabbed and signed.
I wonder who God is, and where’s “above,”
and why it’s hard to feel His abstract “love.”

“Above” is just out there, is space around
the planet Earth, with countless other spheres
where doubtless other forms of life abound.
The scholar Sitchin says, despite folks’ jeers,
that Eden’s “God” was “gods” — were engineers
from planet Nibiru who synthesized
us from great apes and slavery devised.

Not gods, in fact, but astronauts in need!
They hybridized us — mixed ape genes with theirs —
made us dig gold so Nibiru could feed
its people produce grown in garden squares
deep underground with bright gold-halide flares.
I pray to Nibirubians, not gods,
who stole the gold we dug — those pirate-frauds!

No wonder love is hard to feel for those
who intervened, sped up our evolution,
imposed on us their planet’s fresh food throes,
imprinted us with gold as the solution,
snipped estrus from our gene pool’s constitution —
whose sibling rivals made us choose a side
and war with “gods” and men in fratricide.

What but unconscious shame at this abuse
could shrink so my compassion — reprimand
my heart and brain ’til I became obtuse
in sensibility to That Which Planned
(Creator of All Things) my ape-like hand . . . ?
Not made to dig for gold or grasp at prayer,
it’s made to groom, and give, and deal foursquare.


Ape-Man Hybrid Ponders at Work

A meditation based on Zecharia Sitchin’s Earth Chronicles.

I stoop at first, then hunker down and crawl
on hands and knees, fists clutching pick and spade,
through last night’s picked-out gold ore I must haul
to light — where it will be much under-weighed.

My ore’s too little. So’s its yield in gold.
In such deep darkness my eyes cannot see
what’s ore, and what’s just rock — both wet and cold.
My upset Masters never let me be.

What Lords must they appease up in Big Blue?
Why do they goad me so to work this hole?
What is this problem with their Nibiru?
Why’s gold the only thing they can extol?

Enough. My mate’s warm arms extol delight,
and in her cave I’ll pick my rest tonight.



21st Century Bread Cover

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